Page 68 of Summer Weddings
“Was she pretty?”
“Very pretty,” he answered soothingly. Normally he found the subject of Lori painful, but right now he was grateful to discuss something other than Bethany Ross.
“As pretty as Ms. Ross?”
He rolled his eyes; he’d been sucker-punched. “Yes.”
“She died in an accident?”
Mitch didn’t know why Chrissie repeatedly asked the same questions about her mother. Maybe the child could tell that he wasn’t giving her the whole truth. “Yes, your mother died in an accident.”
“And you were sad?”
“I loved her very much.”
“And she loved me?”
“Oh, yes, sweetheart, she loved you.”
His daughter seemed to soak in his words, as if she needed reassurance that she’d been wanted and loved by the mother she’d never known.
After that, Chrissie grew thoughtful again. Mitch returned to his paper. Then, when he least expected it, she resumed her campaign. “Can I have a brother or sister someday?” she asked him. The question came at him from nowhere and scored a direct hit.
“Probably not,” he told her truthfully. “Like I said, I don’t plan to remarry.”
“Why not?” She wore that hurt-little-girl look guaranteed to weaken his resolve.
Mitch made a show of checking his watch. He was through with answering questions and finding suitable arguments for a child. Through with having Bethany Ross offered up to him on a silver platter—by his daughter, the would-be matchmaker.
“Time for bed,” he said decisively.
“Already?” Chrissie whined.
“Past time.” He slid her off his knee and led her into her bedroom. He removed the stuffed animals from the bed while Chrissie got down on her knees to say her prayers. She closed her eyes and folded her hands, her expression intent.
Mitch could see his daughter’s lips move in some fervent request. He didn’t have to be a mind reader to know what she was asking. If God joined forces against him, Mitch figured he’d find himself engaged to the tantalizing Ms. Ross before the week was out.
* * *
Christian O’Halloran, youngest of the three brothers, walked into the Hard Luck Café and collapsed in a chair. He propped his elbows on the table and buried his face in his hands.
Without asking, Ben picked up the coffeepot and poured him a cup. “You look like you could use something stronger,” he commented.
“I can’t believe it,” Christian moaned.
“Believe what?” Ben assumed this had to do with Christian’s secretary. He didn’t understand what it was about Mariah that Christian found so objectionable. Personally he was rather fond of the young lady. Mariah Douglas had grit. She had the gumption to live in one of those run-down cabins. No power. No electric lights. And for damn sure, nothing that went flush in the night.
“You won’t believe what just happened. I nearly got my head chewed off by some attorney.”
Now this was news. Ben slid into the chair opposite Christian’s. “An attorney? Here in Hard Luck?”
Christian nodded, his face a smoldering shade of red. “I was accused of everything from false advertising to misrepresentation and fraud.Me,” he said incredulously.
“Who hired her?”
Christian’s eyes narrowed. “My guess is Mariah.”
“No.” Ben shook his head. Mariah might’ve been the cause of some minor troubles with Christian, but there wasn’t a vindictive bone in her body. From everything he’d seen of her, Mariah was a sweet-natured, gentle soul.
